The Ghost of Sherlock Holmes
by writtenwithfeathers
Summary: Post Reinbach, Sherlock goes to see John and finds that there is something wrong. John can't see him. He Tries everything to get John's attention, and after many attempts John finally sees him. A Johnlock Fanfic. *I do not own any of the Characters*


"Don't be…dead. Would you do that just for me? Just stop it," John said.

John had put everything into his relationship with Sherlock. Sherlock was the first person to make him feel alive since he had come back from the war. He just wished Sherlock could have known that. For being so smart, so observant, Sherlock was really clueless. How could he have not picked up on all the subtle hints that John sent his way? John wanted so badly for Sherlock to notice the way his praises were more than just that. All those women he dated while they were partners, they were all cover ups, none of them mattered to him, and he made that very clear. Any time Sherlock called he would answer, no matter what he was doing, or who he was with, he would come. John touched the gravestone one last time before he walked away, tears falling out of his eyes.

In the distance, covered by a layer of trees stood Sherlock, watching as John talked to an empty grave… his empty grave. He watched as John confessed that he thought of Sherlock as a hero, how he wouldn't let anyone else tell him otherwise, that no one could convince him that Sherlock was a liar. He wanted so badly to go and tell John that he was still alive, that he had done what he had done to save John. He didn't know why he was so eager to go and talk to John again. Had he really opened himself up so much to have such strong feelings toward someone? He thought about it and realized that it was completely logical to become excited to see his one and only friend, the one person he counted on, and trusted with his own life. The one friend he would give his life for and the one who he gave his life for. He smiled to himself and walked quickly away from the site. He wanted to get to where John was staying before John did. He wanted to surprise him. He stopped for a split second and closed his eyes computing what route John would take, what the stops were, and then he was off, racing down the street like a maniac, feeling a rush of excitement go through him. He found himself being as excited as he would be when he got a good case, his lips formed into a smile as he jumped over a gate, landing on a large dumpster. He sprinted through the alley way, and then stopped abruptly placing his back against a wall. He watched as Johns cab passed the alley, and as it went past he stuck his head around the corner to watch his friend, his only friend unknowingly going to see him.

As Sherlock rounded the corner of Johns new flat, he knew he had made it. He was exactly a minute ahead of John, and this gave him time to break in through a window. He entered the small one bedroom flat, and saw that it was bare. He could see that John was depressed, just by looking at the room. He looked over to the laptop that sat on top of John's bed. It was opened to his blog, on one particular post of John's, the one where they were taken to Buckingham Palace and he wasn't wearing any pants, just a sheet. He cocked his head to the side, and laughed just slightly at the memory of that day.

Sherlock shot up when he heard the cab pull up in front of the flat. He ran, or rather, jumped around the room in anticipation for seeing John again. Although he had seen him, he hadn't really seen him. He only watched him from afar. He wanted to actually see John, look him in the eyes, and see his stupid grin again… He hadn't seen that smile; he couldn't see that smile, not when John thought he was dead. No, John only smiled like that when he was with Sherlock.

Sherlock sat, then stood, then paced, then jumped, then sat again, all in the 10 seconds it took for John to get to the door and unlock it. As the door opened Sherlock stood up. He brushed his long black coat with his hands and positioned himself as best as he could. He wanted to look acceptable for John, because the last time John had saw him, he had been… dead.

John opened the door, his left hand trembling. He sighed, trying his hardest not to cry again. He pulled the key from the lock and entered the flat. He lifted his left hand and knew that the tremor had returned, he was alone again, the battlefield was gone. Sherlock was dead. He went into his room and walked straight to his laptop. He had forgotten that he left it opens to his blog. He immediately closed it, no longer wanting to think. If he thought then he would remember, and remembering was something he could not do.

John sat there, staring into the nothingness of his room.

"Alone again," John said. He sat facing the wall opposite of him, and did nothing.

"John?" Sherlock said as he walked forward. He had been leaning against the wall that John was staring at. How could he not see him?

"John, I'm right in front of you!" he said as he waved his hands in front of the non-responsive John.

"John, answer me? I'm alive, look… just look." he screamed. He was getting angry now.

_I swear if John thinks he's imagining this…_Sherlock thought.

"John," Sherlock said in a soft deep voice, something he used often to help calm others, "You're not imagining me, see look" he reached out and grabbed John's hand. "See, I'm real."

The only response he got was when John began to scratch his hand, the one Sherlock was holding. Sherlock backed away shaking his head.

"No, no, this is all wrong. I'm alive… I had Molly, I didn't…" Sherlock trailed off as he hit the wall behind him with his back. He lifted his hands up rotating them so that he could see them. He was there, he wasn't transparent, he couldn't be a ghost, he didn't believe in ghosts. He could feel everything, he had touched John's hand, he knew he had, he could feel it.

He looked up from his hands and saw John begin to lie down. John couldn't see him. _How could this be possible? _Thought Sherlock. He hadn't really died, he couldn't have. All of his calculations were spot on… they always were. He had Molly help him, hadn't he? He was there when Molly Allowed Mycroft and John to see the body… His Body. He was present, and although he could only lie there, pretending to be lifeless, he was there, and he had communicated with her.

Sherlock went through the events that had recently occurred. He thought about Moriarty… Had he won? Did Moriarty get what he wanted, for Sherlock to die a fallen idol?

No, no he couldn't have… Sherlock paced back and forth, placing his hands together as if in prayer and pressing them to his lips. He thought out loud, trying the put the pieces together, tried to figure out why John wouldn't respond, until he stopped. He placed his hands on top of his head and sighed. He closed his eyes, and tried his hardest to remember what had happened after the fall… He had thought that Molly had helped him, he could see it all in his head, but as he let the memory play he realized, that everything that had happened, happened out of his control. He looked back at the memory and suddenly he was watching it all happen from a different view then he had remembered. He could see himself, his soul and body separated. Everything logical flew away and he fell into the wall, sliding down it as he brought his knees toward his chest and let his face fall into his hands.

**Sherlock was dead.**

The afternoon passed and soon John was awake. The Day had gone and the darkness had taken over. It was hard for John to wake up and not have Sherlock there to converse with. He missed the way Sherlock could tell when he had a bad dream, or if he had slept wrong. Even though he had complained about all the deductions that Sherlock made about him, he had come accustom to them, and they had allowed him to learn something new about himself as well. He rolled over to his side and faced the wall opposite from him.

Sherlock looked up, hoping that John could see him sitting there. But as he looked into John's eyes, all he saw was emptiness. The eyes he had remembered were gone. He continued to look into John's eyes, wishing that John could look back into his. He leaned forward and began to crawl toward John, getting as close as he could to him, never taking his eyes away from John's.

"I should have told you how much I appreciated you," Sherlock said. "You were my only friend, the only person I could trust. I don't know how you continued to stay with me, I don't know why you cared."

Sherlock placed his hands on the bed and propped himself on top. John was on the edge of the bed, facing the wall across from him, which allowed Sherlock to roll on top and over John and lay on the left side of the bed. He laid on his back and look at the ceiling.

"The last thing you said to me was that friends are what protect you," Sherlock continued, "and you were right. I didn't do what I did for just anyone, I did it for you. You're the only person I would give my life for. I protected you."

Sherlock turned his head to look at John. John hadn't moved, he hadn't heard a word. Sherlock sat up slightly still looking at John and propped his body up with his elbows.

"I protected you John, because," He struggled to say the words. He had never said them before. He had never had anyone to say them to. What was the point of saying them now? But he continued, "Because you would have done the same thing for me, because you taught me how to feel. I know that this will never fix anything, and I know you will never know this, but I just wanted to tell you, that you are the only person I have ever loved. **And now, you will forever be the one who gave Sherlock a heart**."

John was lying on his side when he felt a cold chill. He shivered letting out a large breath and was surprised to see his breath form into a fog. He didn't remember being this cold. But Just as the chill was upon him, it was gone. He got up to look for the source of the cold, possibly a breeze.

Sherlock sat up on the bed, throwing his legs over the edge. He study John's movements, trying to figure out what had made him get up. He watched as John walked over to the closed window, then to the door. Sherlock cocked his head… _was someone watching John? _Sherlock thought. He began to panic. He had killed himself so that he could protect John, had it been for nothing? Was John still in trouble? He stood up and walked toward the same window he had come in through.

He saw nothing of significance, and relaxed a bit.

"Why did you check the window?" Sherlock thought out loud. "There was no one there, it was closed and locked. And the door, you walked toward it and did nothing. What were you looking for?"

In that time John had moved back to the bed. He wasn't tired; he just didn't want to do anything. He sat again, facing the wall across from him, unknowingly facing Sherlock's ghost that paced back and forth, and never taking his eyes off of John.

"What were you looking for? You were cold, I saw you shiver, yet there was no breeze. That's what you were looking for, wasn't it? But a room like this, during this time of the year, it wouldn't be cold, no… So why did you shiver?"

John sat up just slightly. He felt like he wasn't alone, but he knew no one was there. He looked around knowing he wouldn't find anything. John sighed, then proceeded to lie back down when he saw his lamp flicker. He stopped where he was, placing all his weight on his right arm. He continued to stare at the lamp, yet nothing happened.

Sherlock walked over to the lamp and waved his hand around it. Again it flickered, and John's eyes squinted. Sherlock pleased with his discovery of being able to adjust the lighting, smiled.

_Maybe there's a way to communicate? _Sherlock Hoped.

He waved his hand up and down for a good thirty seconds to show that it was more than just coincidence to John, but soon John lost interest and collapsed onto the bed. He laid the same way he had earlier, on his side, facing the wall opposite of him. Sherlock rolled his eyes, and walked away from the lamp, and it stopped flickering.

It took him a fraction of a second to decide that he would try and make John shiver again. There was no doubt in his mind that he was the one who had created the reaction.

He squatted in front of John, and waved his hand in front of his face.

No response.

He placed his hand on John's cheek.

No response… from John, Sherlock on the other hand felt like there were a million little needles running though his hand.

He thought about what had happened before John shivered, and then he remembered.

"John, everything I did in the last couple of days we were together, was for you. Thank you for being there with me for my last days."

John pulled the blanket that was behind him on top of him, then let out a heavy sigh when he was finally comfortable, allowing him to see his breath float in front of him in a fog. He pulled his arms closer to his core and tried to get as warm as possible.

Sherlock grinned in disbelief. "Oh, oh, this is good. This is very good." He said as he clapped his hands together and stood up.

"All I have to do is find the triggers," he said ecstatically. He was bounding across the room in excitement.

Suddenly John shot up. He could have sworn he had heard Sherlock say something.

Sherlock ran to John's side to watch his reaction… then backed away with a cheerful grin.

"I think I've figured it out," He almost yelled. He couldn't contain the excitement he felt. It was as if he was working a case, but this time, the case was him.

He leaped across the room ranting about why the light flickered and why the air grew colder. And with all the events occurring at once, John could see Sherlock.

John's mouth fell open and he threw the blankets off of him. He stood up; walking toward the ghost of his best friend, and Sherlock stopped everything he was doing.

"Is that really you?" John asked.

He reached out his hand and placed it on Sherlock's cheek. Sherlock brought his hand to John's and they stood there, staring into each other's eyes with John's hand on Sherlock's cheek, and Sherlock's hand on John's.

"It's you isn't it?" John said after a few moments. His hand dropped and he fell into Sherlock's arms. He rubbed his face into Sherlock's shoulder.

"I knew you weren't dead, I knew it," John said into Sherlock's shoulder.

They stood there, unmoving for the next couple minutes. The whole time Sherlock was trying to find a way to tell john that he was dead, that what John saw was just his ghost. He thought that if what he had heard about ghosts was right, one day he would be gone. He tried to find the words, but he couldn't so he let it slide away, as he pulled away, just slightly, from John. Again they were looking into each other's eyes. The empty eyes Sherlock had seen were gone, and he could finally **see** John. How he had missed those eyes. They were always filled with so much concern and care and love. That was what he loved most about John's eyes, that they showed his love for Sherlock. It wasn't a look Sherlock normally got, but he didn't mind that John was the only one who gave him this look, because at least he knew that the look was special, and that John felt exactly the same way that he did.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock finally said. It was the only thing that he could think to say. All those years of having the right words, all those years of always having an answer to any question, asked or not, were nothing now. In all those years he had always needed to say something more, but now, in this moment, he knew that those two words were enough to let John know how he felt.

John shook his head, mumbling half spoken words. He would start to say something then would decide against it. He tried countless times to find the right words to say but whenever he tried to speak them, only vowels would exit. "I, Uhm, ahh, ohh, I," He placed his left hand behind his head and scratched it. "I, Uhm"

Sherlock was watching as John struggled to say anything. He couldn't help but smile as he watched the man he loved struggle to tell him that he was more than happy that Sherlock was alive. Sherlock knew exactly what John wanted to say, but he liked watching him struggle.

"I just," John had finally found the words that were lingering on his tongue, but just as he began to say them, Sherlock pulled John's face in with his hands and planted his lips upon John's.

John involuntarily let out a deep moan that came from within his throat, and that was enough to let Sherlock know that John wanted more. With his hands still on John's cheeks he walked forward. John's legs bumped into the bed and he collapsed onto it with Sherlock on top of him. Sherlock moved his right hand to John's thigh and squeezed it. John reacted by lifting his legs up and around Sherlock. The kisses were escalating from a soft gentle kiss to a more intense, deep one. Their mouths moved in unison to one another, and their breathing became jagged. John wrapped his legs around Sherlock and pushed his hips forward, moaning as he completed the movement. Their hands began to roam around, exploring one another's bodies. Sherlock had studied John's body before, but this, this was much more pleasurable.

Sherlock brought his chest up and placed his hands into the openings of John's jacket, pushing it open. John moved his shoulders, trying his hardest to get the jacket off without having to break away from Sherlock's lips and when it finally slipped off John moved his hands to the buttons of Sherlock's shirt. As John was attempting to get Sherlock's shirt off, Sherlock was become more excited. He moved his hips back and forth as he clutched at John's back. John's hands were at the bottom of the shirt, all the buttons opened and he automatically began touching Sherlock's bare chest with his hands. He put his hands on Sherlock's hips and pulled them toward him, and then he put all his weight on his right side and rolled on top of Sherlock. He broke his lips away and sat on top of him, his legs on both sides of Sherlock, as if they were puzzle pieces put perfectly together. He worked his shirt off while Sherlock leaned up just slightly as his hands went to unbutton John's pants. He unzipped the zipper then placed his hands into the jeans and slid them around to John's butt. He pulled John in and forced John to press his lower body into him. Sherlock let out a moan that showed desire and lust. He began to take his own pants off when John leaned down to help him. He slowly, pulled down Sherlock's pants his face close to Sherlock's stomach. He looked up to look at Sherlock who was looking back at him with a face of want. Every move that John was making, the way that he was slowly sliding off his pants was turning him on. He was being teased, and he liked it.

John got Sherlock's pants off then began kissing Sherlock's stomach, and began moving his way up. He kissed his stomach, his chest, his neck, his cheek, his neck again, and then Sherlock couldn't take it anymore. He rolled John over and planted his lips hard on John's. One hand was through John's hair, the other was on John's butt, trying to bring John's hips up toward his.

Sherlock groaned, and began to track his kissed down, down, down, until he was falling he looked around him but there was nothing to be seen. Everything was a flash of color, a quick blur, he fell, until he didn't fall anymore, and he hit something with more force than he could have imagined. He was on his back now, and he jerked himself up, supporting himself with his right hand and letting his left go upon his forehead. He looked around.

"Finally awake?" Molly said. "You were making some weird noises there Sherlock… bad dream?"

Sherlock didn't answer; instead he looked around, somehow disappointed that what had happened hadn't happened. He was also relieved that he wasn't dead, and that his plans had worked after all.

"I have to go," he said as he threw the covers off and in a swift movement swung his legs over and stood up.

"Ohh," Molly gasped. She didn't mean to look, but it was there, she smiled shyly.

Sherlock looked down, then embarrassingly turned around.

"I just woke up," He tried to explain, looking over his shoulder, then back down.

He walked over to the washroom, rinsed his face, and thought of a bad case, and soon the problem was solved.

He walked out of the washroom, and saw his scarf hanging on a hook beside the door. He grabbed it and placed it around his neck tying it the only way he knew how. He began to walk out the door.

"Leaving already," Molly's voice was shaky; he could hear the want in her voice.

He turned around and nodded. "Thank you for everything, you're a great friend. But I have to get to another friend now."

"John?" She asked, although she already knew. She said his name with more than just a question. She saw how they acted around each other, and when she said his name, she wasn't asking if he was going to see John, she was asking if he would always choose John over everyone else.

"Yes," he answered and he was gone.

It was dark out when Sherlock left Molly's apartment. He liked it this way. There was only one person who knew he was alive, and he knew that person would keep it a secret, but _he_ couldn't. Just like in his dream he was becoming excited to the fact that he would soon see John. He thought about getting a cab so that he could reach him faster, but decided against it, realizing that there must be a lot of publicity out right now about him being dead, and a fraud, and he didn't want to take the chance of getting noticed. So he covered his face to shield it from the light of the moon and continued on.

John was staying at a motel a few blocks away from Baker St. He hadn't brought very many items with him. Just a toothbrush, a few extra pairs of clothes, and his laptop, even though he had no intentions of opening it any time soon. He had just gotten back from the therapists office, and was having a hard time finding something to do.

He didn't want to turn on the television because he might see something on it about how Sherlock was a fraud, or some other information on his death. He didn't want to read, he only fancied the newspaper, and who knew what that would say. And his laptop…too many memories were associated with him writing a story about the adventures he had with Sherlock. Everything that they had done together was written on that laptop. So he sat there, contemplating sleep.

He sat at the edge of the bed, taking his shoes off one at a time, then throwing them toward the corner adjacent to him. They hit the wall then the floor, one landing on the other. He looked at them for a few more seconds, then up at the empty wall. He tilted his head slightly, squinted his eyes, and bite his lip as if in thought. He looked around the room, as if it were the first time he had seen it. And in many ways it was. When he had checked in he hadn't even turned on the light, he just went straight to the bed and fell down on it, collapsing into the covers, and cried. He stood up with a sudden urge to use the restroom and walked along, looking at the design on the walls. It was yellow wallpaper, with a design similar to the brown wall at his old flat. He looked away and went to the restroom.

John walked out of the bathroom, buttoning up his sleeve and putting more concentration into the act then was needed. Every little thing he did, he made bigger. It was something to take his mind off of what had happened. He finally buttoned it, then straightened his arm and twisted it so that he could get the sleeve to fall comfortably on his arm. He took up. His mouth fell open, his legs began to shake, and his mind couldn't comprehend the image that was displayed in front of him. He fell to the forward, and fainted.

"Nice to see you too, John" Sherlock said, as he caught John in his arms.

He dragged him over to the bed, his feet making a scratching noise as they slid against the carpet. Sherlock fell onto the bed with John's body on top of his, then continued to slid John's body up so that he was fully on the bed. He slid out from under John, then rolled off the bed. He watched as John was begun to awaken, and he suddenly remembered the dream he had had. The way John had moaned when their bodies pressed together. He took a step back and went over to the chair that was across from the bed, and in front of a small table. He crossed his legs, then uncrossed them, then crossed them again. He placed his elbow on his knee and put his head in his hand. He sat there, watching John move about confused.

John sat up slowly, thinking that he had awoken from a dream. Good or bad, he didn't know. He touched his head, rubbing away the headache he had gotten. He couldn't remember when he had fallen asleep. The last thing he remembered doing was using the restroom, and then… He shot up quickly and looked up from the bed. There sat Sherlock, with a smile on his face, watching John.

"You, you're," John said shaking and pointing his hand toward Sherlock. He positioned himself up and moved toward Sherlock, his knees dragging the comforter along with him.

"You're alive," He exclaimed. "But you can't be alive, I watched you, I saw it, you,"

Sherlock's smile grew. Just like in his dreams John couldn't find the right words.

"Please tell me I'm not imagining this," John said with a pained expression. His voice trembled and there was such sadness in his tone that it hurt Sherlock.

"I'm alive," Sherlock answered. "And I'm sorry. For everything"

John shook his head, trying to tell Sherlock that he didn't need to apologize. He was just glad that he wasn't dead.

"How'd you do it?" John asked.

"That my dear Watson is a story for another night."

Sherlock uncrossed his legs then put his hands together, leaning forward just slightly, as if in deep thought. John just looked at Sherlock, amazed that he was there, that his wish had come true.

"Thank you," Sherlock said after a few seconds.

"For what? I should be thanking you. You brought me out of a dark place, you made me feel alive again. So no, just, no. Thank you."

Sherlock smiled at John. It was the same smile he made when he thought John knew exactly what he knew.

"What?" John asked.

"You helped me too. I was alone, just like you. Who knows if I would still be here if not for you? Well I guess technically I'm not. Technically I'm dead," Sherlock said cocking his head to the side and shrugging his shoulders. He was trying to make a joke, but John didn't find it very funny. He just looked at Sherlock, saying without words, that Sherlock's pretend death had nearly killed him inside.

"I am grateful, for everything you have done. I know I must not have been a very good flat mate. I promise I'll get the milk one day," He said this then looked into John's eyes with a smile. "I also want to thank you for always being there, whenever I needed you, even when it wasn't exactly the most important of reasons. I always enjoyed your company, and I'm sure my colleagues enjoyed your company as well, a lot more than mine." John and Sherlock laughed.

"But most of all, I just want to thank you for making me human." Sherlock said, and John looked at him in shock. Sherlock began quoting what he had said in his dream, this time; he wanted John to hear it.

"I just wanted to tell you, that you are the only person I have ever loved.And now, you will forever be the one who gave Sherlock a heart."

"Love? You love me? Has Sherlock gone soft," Now it was John who was joking, even though he felt the same way. He couldn't imagine losing Sherlock again, and the pain he felt when he thought he was gone was too much to say that he didn't love Sherlock too.

"I wouldn't put it that way," Sherlock said softly.

John looked up. That comment was very sensual and coming from Sherlock? He was surprised at what he had said.

"Then how would you put it?" John asked. He almost hated himself for saying it. But it was too late, the words were out.

Sherlock moved up, their faces just inches apart. John looked at Sherlock's lips, then his eyes. He couldn't decide which one he wanted to look at.

"Like this," Sherlock whispered, right before he pressed his lips against John's.


End file.
